


Special delivery

by Glamidala



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Toronto Losers Au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:54:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24032368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glamidala/pseuds/Glamidala
Summary: Eddie and Mike own the best bakery in Kensington Market, Toronto, and Richie is their best (and most frustrating) customer
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 7
Kudos: 82





	Special delivery

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by Lorelei's idea for the Losers to all work in Kensington Market in Toronto! We'll be adding more stuff and sharing our fics and related art at @LosersInTO on twitter!

It’s already been a rough morning when Mike calls him from the front of the shop. Eddie slams the challah dough he’s been kneading down on the counter—well, he’s meant to be kneading, but really he’s just beating the shit out of it—and wipes his hands on the front of his apron before rounding the corner that leads to the front till.

“Please tell me our egg order isn’t late again.”

Mike smiled apologetically. “Egg order will be in at 2, same as always, but Dave’s truck broke down, and he won’t be able to do deliveries.” 

Eddie inhales deeply through his nose. Dave was a good kid, but he flaked out a lot. This is the third week in a row that something had come up to prevent him from coming in, and Eddie was starting to think he was making things up to avoid working on slow days. He took a second to close his eyes and count to ten before answering.

“Okay, so that isn’t helpful, but it’s 11:30 on a Tuesday. We shouldn’t have any orders to fill today.” Eddie opens his eyes to see Mike tapping away on the iPad they use for emails.

“That’s the other thing. We just got an order for 20 of the chocolate chip cookies, and the email subject says it’s urgent. Look, the counter’s full, and the lunch rush won’t be here for a bit. Do you mind taking this one?”

“Do you have an ulterior motive here?” Eddie takes the tablet from him, scrolling to the end of the email to find the address.

“Well, I really don’t want you to break another rolling pin, so I figured maybe you should take a break.”

Eddie laughs. “Yeah, sitting in traffic is really gonna-”, his grip on the iPad tightened and his mouth became a thin, angry line. “Did you check the address on this?”

“No?”

“ _ FUCK. _ ” He slams the iPad down on the marble, a loud plastic clack from the case—this isn’t the first iPad he’s slammed—rings throughout the small storefront. “I can’t fucking BELIEVE him.”

“Who?”

“Fucking  _ RICHIE _ , that’s  _ WHO _ .” Eddie grabs a cookie box and a pair of tongs, sliding open the glass display case as violently as possible. “Is he SERIOUS? He comes in here at noon anyway!” dropping cookies into the box one at a time. Thunk, thunk, thunk.

“And what the fuck does he need 20 cookies for? I swear to christ, he’s gonna make himself sick if he eats them all at once!” Eddie realizes that Mike has been silently staring at him through his entire tirade. 

“ _ What _ ?” he snaps, immediately regretting it.

“Do you want me to take it over?”

He scrubs a hand across his face. “No…no, Mike, I got this. He needs to know he can’t just.... It’s just across the street, it’s fine.”

He’s calming down, but he’s still pissed. Maybe not pissed, but he’s definitely annoyed. He puts the last few cookies in the box, packaging it up and removing his apron before heading to the door. 

Richie’s house/shop/ pseudo-studio is kitty-corner to the cafe, and Eddie waits for traffic to slow before crossing to the parallel corner and then turning and crossing again. Richie always just jogs straight across, always focused on the destination rather than a safe journey, but fuck it, Eddie isn’t trying to get hit by a goddamn car. He knocks three times on the side door that leads to Richie’s personal residence, and then because he’s impatient, knocks again, death grip on the box in his other hand. He hears Richie’s muffled shout from inside, and the clicking of the lock as he opens the door. Eddie is preparing to read him the riot act.

Richie is…well, first of all he’s tall, and Eddie has to look up at him from the doorstep, something that never fails to send a little shiver of a thrill down his spine—but he’s also shirtless, which was extremely unexpected. He and Eddie have been dating for about a month, dancing around each other for far longer, and while they have had some truly spectacular makeout sessions, things have so far always stayed above the clothes—or at least above Richie’s clothes, he’ll do anything to get Eddie out of his shirt. He’s talked about being self conscious before, but Eddie doesn’t understand why. Everything about him is BIG and gorgeous, and Eddie’s a little stunned.

Richie’s shoulders are huge, he already knew that, but now that they’re properly on display he can see the tight line of muscle that gently slopes from his neck. His chest is wide and covered in dark hair that travels down to cover his stomach, not too thick, but Eddie thinks he could thread his fingers into it and just grab. There’s a softness to his hips and belly that make him want to  _ squeeze _ , and his sweatpants and sitting low enough that he can see where the hair there starts to get a little thicker, coarser. It’s enough to make his mouth water.

Eddie holds out the box of cookies, fingers threatening to crush the thin cardboard if he isn’t careful.

“What. The fuck.”

“Oh! Spaghetti! I was expecting Dave?” Richie leans on the door frame, ignoring the box that is clearly being held out for him to take.

“Why couldn’t you _ literally _ just cross the street? Dave called in, and I’m  _ busy _ .”

Big eyes stare at him through thick glasses. “I may…I may have gotten high? And I’m so hungry it’s killing me, Eds,” Richie pouts, bottom lip plush and pink and god, Eddie wants to kiss him but now is  _ not  _ the time, he’s trying to be  _ angry _ . “Also it’s Tuesday. You’re always quiet on Tuesdays. Can I have my cookies?” He reaches out with grabby hands, the same motion he uses when he’s tired and wants a kiss, and that is just not  _ fair _ .

He shoves the box into Richie’s waiting hands, who immediately opens it and puts an entire cookie in his mouth and moans. “ _ Fuck _ these are so good.”

Eddie knows he’s staring. There’s not much he can do about it, what with Richie standing there being all big and half-naked and  _ him _ , making stupid sounds while eating  _ his _ cookies. So staring is definitely going to happen, whether Eddie likes it or not. The worst part (because of course there’s a worse part, that’s just how his day is going) is that Richie definitely notices.

He puts another cookie in his mouth and adjusts his posture so he’s leaning into Eddie’s space, close enough that he can see the red flush spreading across Eddie’s cheeks.

“Like something you see, Eds?” He’s holding the cookie in his teeth as if daring Eddie to Lady and The Tramp it with him. And _Fuck,_ two can play at that game.

He presses one hand to Richie’s chest and  _ oh, it’s so warm _ , and cups his jaw with the other, pulling him down until they’re level, Richie going easily, eyes widening.

“Rich,” Eddie says, voice low and husky, and Richie is melting into his touch. “You have crumbs on your chin.” He wipes them away with a swipe of his thumb before turning to head back across the street.

“Next time just fucking text me if you want cookies, asshole,” he calls over his shoulder.

Richie holds the box of cookies tight to his chest.  _ Fuck,  _ he thinks, _ I’m pretty sure I’m in love with him. _


End file.
